Moneypenny Redux
by Gramarye
Summary: Lupin is unwittingly forced to examine the true nature of his on-again, off-again relationship with Fujiko. Romance, PG.


I never thought I'd write a fanfic, let alone a romance, involving the   
Lupin III series. But, as a request for my good friend Kara, the   
challenge was just too much to pass up. Not even close to a crossover,  
but just a little twist on a relationship we've come to know very well.  
  
Standard disclaimers apply. Lupin Sansei and all other related   
characters belong to Monkey Punch, AnimEigo, Streamline, and various   
other international companies involved in its production and   
distribution. James Bond and all other related characters belong to   
Ian Fleming, Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer/United Artists, and various other   
international companies involved in its production and distribution.  
  
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Moneypenny Redux  
  
By: Gramarye  
  
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"[You are] a sexist, misogynist dinosaur, a relic of the Cold War,   
whose boyish charms, though wasted on me, quite clearly appealed to   
that young woman I sent out to evaluate you."  
  
-- Dame Judi Dench (as "M") to James Bond in "GoldenEye"  
  
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The soggy heat was disgusting, even in the middle of the night.  
  
Unseasonable warmth hit the population like a blow to the face.   
Every day, students sweltered in their clinging uniforms, and   
businessmen choked in their lightest suits. While the weather   
forecasters commented on the unprecedented heatwave and discussed   
its impact on the upcoming festivities of Golden Week, the people of   
Tokyo suffered through oppressive days and stifling nights.  
  
In a small apartment near the city center, a sluggish ceiling fan   
creaked irritably as it tried to circulate the steamy air. Lupin   
momentarily considered removing his undershorts and adding them to the   
pile of grimy, soaked clothing next to his bed, but decided that any  
movement would only make the heat worse.  
  
He lay still on the bed, trying to think cold thoughts. Ice crackling   
as it melted in a frosty glass of water. An early morning swim in a   
freezing, refreshing lake in the mountains. An air-conditioner going   
full blast. Penguins. *Anything* cold.  
  
With a grunt, he reached for the smudgy glass on the table next to his   
bed. He tossed its entire contents--an inch or two of tepid water--on   
his bare chest. It only made him feel as if he'd added to the layer of  
sweat covering his body.  
  
Lupin sighed.   
  
The latest edition of a tabloid newspaper lay scattered across the   
floor of the apartment, its cheap ink almost running in the heat. A   
screamer headline boldly proclaimed, "Master Thief Lupin Strikes Again:   
Priceless Diamond Tiara Stolen".  
  
He was disappointed--the theft was front page news on every tabloid,   
but relegated to the third page of the major newspapers and barely   
mentioned on the news. The heat wave had taken precedence over his   
daring jewel heist. Very disappointing, that.  
  
He'd taken every precaution, though, and his carefulness had paid off.   
For a job that had been planned a mere two weeks ago, it had come off   
remarkably well. He'd wait a week or two for the heat to die down,   
moving from cheap apartment to cheap apartment a step ahead of any   
pursuers. Then, he'd be out of the country, on the way to meet his   
buyer in Hong Kong.   
  
It couldn't be more perfect.  
  
The soft but unmistakable chink of metal striking metal was followed by  
an audible click. Ever alert, Lupin leapt from his prone position,   
only to crash heavily to the floor. Momentarily stunned, he tried to   
get to his feet, but a sharp yank on his arm prevented him from rising.   
  
Lupin found himself handcuffed to the bedpost, staring down the barrel   
of a small yet vicious-looking pistol. Someone had not only found his   
hideout, but had taken him by surprise. His own precious Walther,   
unfortunately, was hidden somewhere in the pile of smelly clothing   
several feet away.  
  
A flurry of depressing possibilities rushed through his mind--a rogue   
bounty hunter, a specially trained police team, a half-baked private   
detective, or worst of all, Old Man Zenigata himself. With the sigh of   
a gambler who knows his lucky streak has run out, he looked up at his   
attacker.  
  
Whoever it was, he must have been suffocating in dark combat fatigues   
and a black woolen ski-mask. No sooner had these thoughts crossed his   
mind than the attacker whipped off the ski mask to reveal a set of   
delicate features and a pair of inscrutable eyes.  
  
"Fujiko..." Lupin breathed, momentarily startled. He quickly regained  
enough composure to smile grimly. "I should have expected you sooner,"   
he said archly. "Come to admit defeat? It's not *your* fault you   
weren't able to grab the prize before I did."  
  
Fujiko eyed him coldly, studying every inch of his body with a clinical  
air of detachment. "This restraint won't be enough," she mumbled to  
herself, ignoring his taunt. With her weapon still trained on him, she  
took another set of handcuffs and quickly secured the other wrist to   
the post at the foot of the bed. One look at Fujiko's clenched jaw,   
not to mention the oily pistol lodged firmly underneath his chin, was   
enough to make Lupin comply meekly with her plans.  
  
He found himself spread-eagled on the ground, shackled to the bed.   
Not content with her handwork, Fujiko grabbed one of the dirty sheets   
off the bed and bound his legs together, starting at the ankles and   
ending with a firm knot at the knees.   
  
Lupin, for all his agility, knew that it would be incredibly difficult   
to escape without dislocating a vital joint or two. And in that space   
of time, Fujiko would surely be able to stop him.  
  
He was, literally, a captive audience.  
  
"If you want the tiara itself, you're wasting your time," he said,   
covering nervousness with bravado. "It's a cheap piece of junk, in the  
first place. And even if it was valuable, I'm not stupid enough to   
keep it on me where any damn idiot could get it."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Fujiko's finger inch toward   
the trigger. Perhaps 'damn idiot' wasn't the best word choice,   
considering his circumstances. He hastily continued, "Anyway, there's   
nothing so important to you that you'd think of hurting your old buddy   
Lupin, right?"  
  
She eased off on the trigger--slightly. "What am I going to do with   
you?" she said. It was more of a statement than a question.  
  
"You could start by letting me go, Fujiko-chan. Unless you *like*   
your men completely helpless," he added, waggling his eyebrows in a   
desperate attempt at innuendo.  
  
Fujiko's eyes narrowed. "I'm probably wasting my time trying to talk   
to you," she snorted, "but I'm not about to pass up the chance. So   
keep your mouth shut and listen."   
  
Still keeping Lupin covered with her pistol, she sat down on the floor.  
  
"You and me, Lupin, we go way back," she said conversationally, a sharp  
change from her previous coldness. "Friendly rivals, you might say,   
almost from Day One. You know how it goes: some trinket comes up, we   
both chase after it, I wear something skin-tight and see-through. If   
we're lucky we don't end up in prison or dead, and if we're really   
lucky we even get something out of it. That's how our lives work. And  
while I don't have the grand history and family tradition that you, or   
the Samurai, or old Zenigata has, I think I've done pretty well for   
myself. Wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Lupin apparently took a moment too long to voice his agreement, because   
Fujiko's face darkened angrily. "Wouldn't you *agree*?" she repeated  
slowly, stabbing the air with her pistol.  
  
"Oh, y-yes, yes, Fujiko-chan, you're great. Wonderful. I c-couldn't   
even imagine a world where you weren't around," Lupin stammered.  
  
"You certainly don't show it," she snapped.  
  
"Well, what do you want me to do? Send you flowers? Take you   
dancing?" Lupin asked, irritation creeping into his voice. His arms   
were starting to ache, his hands were tingling from their awkward   
position, and the blood was throbbing in his legs. The steamy air in   
the apartment made it hard to breathe, although Fujiko didn't seem to   
be bothered by the uncomfortable temperature.   
  
Fujiko, in fact, was silent. Lupin watched her closely, paying special  
attention to the position of her trigger finger. If it wasn't about   
the loot, what was the point in trussing him up like a plucked chicken?   
She obviously wasn't going to claim him as a bounty--though he was sure   
that at any other time, she'd jump at the chance--so what was her plan?  
  
Fujiko cleared her throat quietly, breaking his train of thought. When  
she finally spoke, her voice was more gentle, almost nostalgic.   
  
"When I was a kid, I liked to read spy novels, adventure stories,  
thrillers, anything with a bit of action and excitement. But my   
favorite thing to do was to watch spy movies, especially James Bond.   
I saw every single one as soon as it hit the theatres, and I couldn't   
wait for the next one to come out.  
  
"Oh, I loved James Bond. Suave and sexy, witty, charming, dangerous,   
yet always a gentleman...he was the kind of guy I dreamed of. He made   
every other guy seem, well, boring. A lady-killer, of course, there   
was no doubt about that. But that was all part of his appeal.  
  
"Come to think of it, that might have been why I never really liked the  
little tramps that popped up in every movie. I wasn't jealous of them,  
or anything like that--I just hated how they let themselves be used.   
They may have been drop-dead gorgeous, or foreign and mysterious, but   
they always ended up the same. Good for one daring mission, but tossed  
aside when the next one came up.  
  
"In just about every movie, though, there was one woman who was never   
trashed. I don't know if you're familiar with the Bond flicks, Lupin,   
but even you should know of Miss Moneypenny. True, she wasn't as   
pretty as the other girls, and she didn't defect from Russia or smuggle  
priceless gems or anything like that. She didn't have a sexy name like  
Pussy Galore or Plenty O'Toole. But she was smart, and witty, and   
never let Bond get the best of her. She used to tease him, asking when  
he'd finally take her out, and he always promised that he'd send her   
flowers...or take her dancing....or something stupid like that.   
  
"So he went out and got shot at and saved the free world, and she   
stayed behind and took shorthand. I don't know if he ever kept his   
promise or not, but I always hoped he did. At least once."  
  
Lupin cleared his throat cautiously, taking advantage of a slight pause  
in the one-sided conversation. "I don't mean to interrupt this lovely   
story, but I don't see what you're getting at." He tried to shrug, but  
only succeeded in making his handcuff chains rattle.  
  
Fujiko stared at Lupin, a curious expression in her eyes. "Oh, you   
don't see, do you? Well, I don't tell stories that have no purpose.   
I just have one question for you: do you ever think about Clarisse?"  
  
Lupin was taken aback. "Clarisse?" he repeated.  
  
"Do you have *any* idea who I'm talking about?" Fujiko said, her voice  
so low that it was almost a snarl.  
  
"Of course I do!" Lupin said indignantly, racking his brain as quickly  
as he could. "Clarisse...Clarisse...Clarisse of Cagliostro! Yeah,   
that was it. You have to give me a minute, Fujiko-chan...I don't think  
well with a gun pointed at me."  
  
"Well?" Fujiko prompted.  
  
Lupin looked slightly puzzled. "Well what? About Clarisse? Yeah, she  
was a nice girl. A bit weird, maybe, but nice."  
  
Fujiko frowned. "But do you ever think about her? Think about what   
she's doing now, if she's happy, anything like that?"  
  
"Well, to tell the truth, I haven't thought about her in a while. I   
suppose she's happy, wherever she is." Lupin squirmed a bit, trying   
to get more comfortable.  
  
Fujiko attempted her characteristically saucy grin, but the smile   
stopped at her eyes. "Well, let me ask you--can you remember the name  
of every bit of stuff that batted her eyelashes at you? You don't   
think about Clarisse of Cagliostro, I know now. What about Maria, the   
little journalist who practically saved our lives a few years back?   
And the others? I know all their names, Lupin. And I'll remember   
them, long after you've forgotten and moved on. Some of them are   
happy, I'm sure, and some aren't. But you don't even think about   
them...they might have not even existed to you."  
  
"Wait a minute, Fujiko." Lupin glared at her, mustering his dignity.   
"What gives you the right to come here and say things like that? Just   
what do you want from me?"  
  
Fujiko paused. Like a magician performing a well-practiced trick, she   
produced a small key from seemingly nowhere. She toyed with it   
absently for a moment, then started to walk toward the bed.  
  
"I don't know if I love you," she said softly, her quiet voice a sharp  
contrast to her blunt words. "I've never really let love bother me.   
I could probably love you, if I wanted to. However, loving you   
wouldn't pay my rent, or buy my clothes, or put food in my mouth.   
You're not really the loving type, no matter how much I want to believe  
otherwise.  
  
"So that's what it comes down to, Lupin. You're about as close as I'm   
going to get to James Bond--however sad that may seem. But Miss   
Moneypenny's tired of waiting for Double-O-Seven." She leaned down and  
unlocked the handcuff at the head of the bed. "Unlike the other Bond   
bimbos, she knows that you can't settle down with him." She unlocked   
the handcuff at the foot of the bed. "Sometimes I'm your rival,   
sometimes we work together. I'm okay with that."  
  
Fujiko walked over to the open window, letting Lupin remove the   
handcuffs himself. She still kept her pistol pointed at him, but it   
was more of a half-hearted gesture than an actual threat. "I won't   
reveal your hiding place. Keep the damn tiara and do what you want   
with it, I don't care. But in return for guaranteeing your safety,   
you have to do something for me."   
  
"Yeah? What's that?" Lupin rubbed his wrists, trying to restore the  
feeling in his hands. He looked up at Fujiko.  
  
"I'm not one of your single-use girlfriends, Lupin. Don't you dare   
treat me like one. Not now, not ever." She placed a foot on the   
windowsill, and was gone into the humid night.  
  
After a long moment, Lupin slowly removed the bedsheet from his legs   
and tossed it onto the bed. He didn't bother to head for the window;   
there was no point in trying to go after her.  
  
Instead, he made his way over to the pile of clothing on the floor.   
Fumbling through his jacket pockets, he found the boat tickets he'd   
purchased for his trip to Hong Kong. After a furtive glance around   
the room, he reached into the jacket again and removed his Walther   
from its holster. With the tickets in one hand and his weapon in the   
other, he shuffled back to bed and flopped onto the mattress.  
  
The ceiling fan creaked on its lonely circuit, and for a long time   
Lupin watched it revolve. Keyed up by the night's excitement, it   
seemed a lifetime before he felt sleepy. But after a while, his   
breathing slowed, and his body relaxed.  
  
"Fujiko-chan..." he sighed lazily as his eyes drifted shut, "What  
will I ever do without you?"  
  
The response came faintly, but the voice was unmistakeable. "As far   
as I can tell, Lupin, you've never had me."   
  
He sprang out of bed and flipped the safety off of his gun   
simultaneously. The forgotten tickets fluttered to the ground like   
wounded white birds as he darted wildly around the room, pointing his   
weapon at every shadow and dark corner. He crawled over to the window,  
scanning the alley and street for any sign of her, but he saw nothing.   
Several minutes passed before he had calmed down enough to think   
straight and stop leaping around.  
  
On his second pass around the room, he saw a small black duffel bag in   
the corner...one that hadn't been there when he came to the apartment.   
Passing on the idea that it could be a bomb--Fujiko was unpredictable,   
but she wasn't homicidal--he nevertheless approached it with all the   
care of a bomb-squad technician. He nudged it with his toe, then with   
his gun. He gingerly unzipped the bag and looked inside.  
  
A large bottle of vodka. Cheap Russian vodka, not even the good kind,   
but vodka nonetheless. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a   
small bottle of vermouth and a jar of olives also inside the duffel   
bag. An even closer look in the bag produced a small cocktail shaker,   
a glass, and a Thermos. He opened up the Thermos, and found a small   
mound of crushed ice inside.  
  
Lupin stared at it, then shrugged. He did the only thing he could do.  
  
He mixed himself a very dry vodka martini.  
  
Shaken, not stirred.  
  
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Gramarye  
gramarye@mailandnews.com  
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/  
August 10th, 2001 


End file.
